Smash & Grab

By Amy Christine Parker

Ocean’s Eleven meets the star-crossed lovers of West Side Story. Grab some popcorn and get ready for an adrenaline-filled heist!
 
LEXI is a rich girl who loves a good rush. Whether it’s motorcycle racing or BASE jumping off a building in downtown Los Angeles, the only times she feels alive are when she and her friends are executing one of their dares. After her father’s arrest, Lexi doesn’t think twice about going undercover at his bank to steal the evidence that might clear his name. She enlists her hacker brother and her daredevil friends to plan a clever heist.
 
CHRISTIAN is a boy from the wrong side of the tracks. The local gang has blackmailed him and his friends into robbing banks, and he is desperate for a way out. When the boss promises that one really big job will be the last he ever has to do, Christian jumps at the chance for freedom. In fact, he’s just met a girl at the bank who might even prove useful. . . .
 
Two heists. One score. The only thing standing in their way is each other.
 
Told in alternating points of view, this caper is full of romance and fast-paced fun. Hand to fans of Perfect Chemistry, The Conspiracy of Us, and Heist Society.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Random House Children's Books
• Release date: Jul 19, 2016
• ISBN: 9780553533835

Book preview

1 Lexi1 Lexi

I’m breathless by the time we reach the helipad on top of the US Bank Tower—exactly 1,018 feet above LA. The city sprawls out beneath us in all directions, a wide carpet of neon and white lights that dazzles me after the relative dark of the stairwell. It is heady stuff, seeing the world from this high, dizzying…and exactly what I need right now.

I laugh a little. My father was arrested this morning for a bank-fraud scheme that I still don’t completely understand, and I’m the one preparing to jump off a building. I look over at my big brother, Quinn, and he’s laughing, too—probably having the same thought I am—that this is crazy, but a strangely Lexi-appropriate way to cheer ourselves up. He wouldn’t be up here if it weren’t for me. He says yes to my schemes because he likes to think of himself as my protector. I’m glad he does. I wouldn’t have nearly as much fun doing this on my own.

Our tight band of friends and fellow adrenaline junkies are gathered around Quinn and me—Oliver, Leo, and Elena. Five of us altogether. Elena’s sister, Whitney, is the only one missing—if you don’t count Derek, that is, and I don’t. Whitney had to distract the night guard while we sneaked into the stairwell, and she’ll drive the car to pick us up after we’ve gone over the edge. Derek’s not here, because I didn’t invite him. After tonight he won’t be part of our little group anymore. Not that he really was to begin with. Just because we’ve been dating doesn’t earn him a permanent place with us. I feel a twinge of guilt about it and maybe something else, something more difficult to pinpoint, but I don’t want to dwell on that now. Not here. All in all, the vibe is right for this jump. And somehow the number for our group is back to normal. It feels decidedly lucky. We all feel it, I can tell.

Everyone’s eyes are bright, their cheeks flushed. The impending free fall has them revved, has me revved. I can feel my whole body humming with a high that comes only from doing something outrageous, a high that most of the ground dwellers below us never experience. Alcohol and drugs can’t touch it. It’s 100 percent pure adrenaline and it’s amazing. Addictive. No matter what maneuver we have planned—this jump or the motorcycle race we pulled off in the spillway last month—the thrill never weakens. These moments are the only times I ever feel truly alive.

It’s the same for all of us, even Quinn, though he won’t usually admit it and complains whenever I come up with some new dare. It’s probably the main reason why we’re all friends in the first place. It’s how we choose to deal with problems. We don’t have to face them if we keep moving fast enough, if things are exciting enough. If we keep distracting ourselves.

Leo shuts the stairwell door, so we’re stuck out here. The only exit now is jumping. The slam of the closing door makes me wince, reminding me of this morning and the way our front door banged against the foyer wall as the FBI agents invaded our house, one after another rushing in, hands on their guns, eyes scanning every inch of our home like our whole lives were suspect and not just my father’s. My heart was thundering in my chest then, too, especially as they dragged my father out into the yard, morning stubble shadowing his chin, his skin an ashen, guilty shade. I hated the way it felt in that moment, like my heart might start contracting—charley-horsing—and never stop.

My father’s in jail. Right now. Somewhere down there, in a cell. If he’s convicted, he’ll be in there until I’m his age, maybe longer.

I shake my head. I don’t want to think about that anymore. That’s why I’m up here. Quinn, too.

Keep moving; distract yourself and the hurt you feel will fade, I tell myself.

The security cameras are still down, but we don’t have much time, Quinn says, adjusting his gear one last time. My brother is a computer genius. He hacked the security from his laptop a week ago so that tonight’s feed is of old footage. If they figure out we were up here, there won’t be any recorded evidence. We are basically ghosts.

This wind is ridiculous! shouts Leo, my best friend in the whole world, his eyes squinted against it and steadily tearing up. His freckles are pronounced against his pale face.

We need to get on one of the outcroppings over there to make sure we clear the building, I say, gesturing to the right.

Leo lifts the camera he’s carrying and looks through the lens, adjusts it, then looks again and starts snapping pictures of us: first Quinn, looking like Jason Bourne in his all-black clothes, and then Oliver and Elena, who are on the edge of the helipad platform with their arms around each other. Your turn, he says as he turns his camera on me.

I put my helmet under one arm and strike a pose. The rhinestones on my fingernails catch the light from the flash and look like twinkling stars for a second. I decided a while ago to embrace my inner bling monster—the Jimmy Choo–wearing, Prada bag–carrying creature my mother raised me to be. As much as rebelling against anything that makes her happy appeals to me, I actually love all that stuff. Shallow or not, I don’t care. The girlie glamour is too enticing, the dress-up fun of it. When I was little, I was obsessed with the girls in James Bond movies—sexy and beautiful, but tough, too. Doing things like this jump makes me feel like one of them. Invincible.

You’re beautiful, Leo says, not a trace of lust evident in his voice. This makes the compliment that much more flattering because there’s no agenda attached to it. Plus, it doesn’t make me want to squirm the way it would if, say, Derek said it. When he said it.

Good, I say, beaming.

All right, enough pictures, let’s go! As usual, Oliver is amped, ready. This is especially true tonight, since his father’s construction company just finished the renovation of this building. That’s part of why we chose it. And because I’m a sucker for an architecturally distinct locale. It infuses the jump with a little extra finesse. Oliver has spent most of his life under the strict eye of his father, a man so rigid and physically abusive that he drove Oliver’s mom back to her native Japan and powerful enough that he managed to maintain custody of his kids. By sneaking to the top of a building his father helped renovate, Oliver is defying him without actually having to do it to his face and risk his father’s anger.

Chill out. Rushing means mistakes, I say. I haven’t pored over building plans, structural details, weather conditions, and city maps just to leap off the instant Oliver decides he’s ready. "We do it as planned, and that means climbing down to the ledge and then flying."

Tonight’s maneuver is my baby, my contribution to the BAM (short for badass maneuvers) book we keep, an adrenaline-soaked alternative to a slam book, where we record all our adventures—documented meticulously with Leo’s photos and Elena’s near-poetic descriptions of them. We started it to cheer up Oliver after his parents’ divorce, a sort of joke that over the years became something bigger. Now we have more than twenty pages of capers, most of them directly related to crappy moments in one or all of our lives. Like my dad’s arrest. Or Leo’s mom’s breakdown.

I put on my helmet and motion for everyone to follow me toward the far corner of the pad. We get on our stomachs and, one by one, lower ourselves to the narrow shelf below that borders the whole building, coming to points every so often so that from the sky it must look a bit like a starburst. The point nearest us is the one we need to use—far from the stairway flanking the opposite side of the building and the other obstructions. Landing on them would be deadly.

Together we climb onto the lip that separates the shelf from the open sky, arms out like tightrope walkers’ poles, the wind prodding at our backs, threatening to unbalance us. The streets below are mostly quiet this late at night, but there are still cars here and there, slowly making their way toward the freeway, the drivers totally unaware that we are up here watching them. Seeing the rest of the world from this high is freeing because it’s too far away to feel real.

Say ‘BAM,’ Leo says as he snaps another picture that includes, I’m sure, the giant billboard with an advertisement for Left Coast Construction, Oliver’s dad’s company, plainly visible in the distance. Oliver will probably be tempted to hang it up in his room. The flash is blinding and I sway a bit.

Hey, cut it out, man, Oliver grumbles, struggling to balance. Elena latches on to his arm to keep from falling. He looks down at her and his expression softens. How about a kiss, Lanie? For luck. He pulls her closer, leans in to nuzzle her neck. This thing developing between them is about a year old and more intimate than I think any of us expected. Watching them feels odd, wrong. I’m not sure I like it. If it goes bad, it’ll mess up our group. Elena’s not good at staying faithful, though I think with Oliver she’s trying. Still, the odds are against them.

Elena rolls her eyes. I guess if it’s in the name of luck… She tilts her head up and presses her lips to his as Leo takes another picture.

I look from Quinn to Leo to Oliver to Elena.

It’s time.

When the moment is right, I can always feel it. I look over the edge, hold a hand in the air, and judge the wind. Yep. Perfect.

Let’s do this. I’m going first, okay? I say.

No. No deal. I go first. Or we don’t go, Quinn says in his best big-brother-in-charge voice, all low and firm and businesslike.

I don’t fight him. He’s the one guy I let tell me what to do. He has my back no matter what. The only one in our family who does. My father sure doesn’t. Even if I didn’t already know that, today makes it glaringly obvious. And my mother is the poster girl for bad decision-making. She said as much when the FBI agents pulled my father outside this morning. Marrying you was a mistake, she told Dad right up close, their noses nearly touching, her voice loud enough that all the neighbors gawking at the spectacle from the sidewalk could hear. Her face was pinched, her eyes streaming tears. How could I have been so stupid? The question isn’t new. She asks it every time she and my father have a fight. It’s meant to hurt him, but it hurts me, too. It makes me feel like maybe Quinn and I are part of what she regrets, extra ties to this man who she obviously doesn’t love, who she maybe never loved. Sometimes when she says it, it makes me hate her. And sometimes it makes me hate my father for somehow tricking her into marrying him, but mostly it just makes me promise myself that I won’t do what she did. I will never let some guy get so close that I get fooled into a destiny that I don’t want.

Okay. Fine. You go first. Steal my thunder. Rain on my parade, I tease, putting a hand on Quinn’s shoulder and squeezing it. See you on the ground, big brother. He leans his head to one side and rests it on my shoulder for a second, so unexpectedly tender that my throat feels thick and strangled, and I want to cry. He’s the only guy I will ever depend on.

Oh man, you got this! Oliver hollers over a loud gust of wind. He’s all riled up, jazzed like he’s tempted to try to chest-bump the sky.

As nervous as I am for BASE jumps—and I am always nervous, because even with months of prep and practice, the risk is enormous—waiting for Quinn to land is always the worst part, that moment when I have an image of him falling fast, his chute not opening, then him hitting the ground. The picture in my mind is so sharp that I almost hear the heavy thud of his body’s impact. It would be all my fault if he did. My idea. My jump. My risk. I have to fight the urge to tell him to sit this one out.

Three, two, one. He looks back at me long enough to wink and then dives straight out, arms spread wide, embracing the night. His chute deploys, an explosion of fabric. It fans out, filling with air, and he disappears beneath it.

Later, losers, Oliver says. He jumps without a countdown, saluting us with one hand as he steps out into the sky, his body already tilting forward into a stomach-down position.

Quinn’s almost on the ground, arcing his way toward the street and the grassy area that’s our landing spot. I breathe for the first time since he jumped.

Beautiful up here, Leo says, taking it all in one last time. He grins at me, his helmet cam on, the red light a staring eye. He blows me a kiss and takes a swan dive, looking like one of Peter Pan’s Lost Boys or something, flying without pixie dust.

Here goes, Elena squeals, and then she’s gone, too, screaming madly all the way down. I stand on the ledge a moment more. Alone. I wait, my hand going to the zippered pouch on my jacket where I keep my phone. I pull it out and unlock it, then look up the last few texts from Derek. I feel this need to read through them one more time. Up here it’s easier to know what I want.

Where are you? Thought we were supposed to meet for coffee. UR late. WTF?

It’s the WTF that bothers me most—angry and entitled, like I owe him something. There are more. Three more. The first one’s angry, the last one concerned.

The news. God. Your dad. Call me.

And that’s the one that did it. Put the nail in the coffin for me. I don’t want to talk about my dad with him.

I finally leave a text of my own. A cowardly one, I think, but I don’t let that stop me.

It’s over. Sorry. I can’t do this right now.

It’s a weak breakup, but it’s a relief to type it anyway. And besides, after the news covers Dad’s arrest on every major television station tonight, Derek will thank me for letting him off the hook. He won’t want to be mixed up with me. Our relationship is over. And I am happy about it.

I am.

I swear.

I close my eyes and listen to the wind whistling around the building, to the distant screech of tires on asphalt, to the faint echo of my friends calling to one another below. This is where I belong. I want to savor the high coursing through my blood for a moment or two longer, knowing that I got Quinn, Leo, Oliver, and Elena up here and then safely to the ground.

They could’ve died. The risk is there—real—or this wouldn’t be illegal. One wrong pull on my lines and I crash into this building or one beside it. If the chute gets twisted coming out, there won’t be time to right it. Less than a minute from here to the ground, and any mistakes mean that minute could be my last. Standing here now is like looking straight into the face of death and deciding to jump toward its gaping black mouth with the intention of steering away at the last minute…or not.

Things have been bad lately. More than bad. The arrest was almost a relief. There was all this awful tension building at home. It is at the very least an explanation for why my parents spend most nights yelling at each other, for why our house doesn’t feel like a home. I’m not suicidal—really, I’m not…but I can’t deny that sometimes I am curious about it. About how peaceful it might feel to let things end.

I let out a long, slow breath. Then I close my eyes and step into the air.

2 Christian2 Christian

The van is cool. Well, not cool exactly, but the perfect getaway car for a heist. It’s nondescript, dust-covered gray, with a lineup of cartoon-character people stuck to the tinted back window. A mom. A dad. Two kids. A dog. Man, I hate those stupid gringo decals. Like anyone really needs them to figure out whose ride this is. But as awesome as they are, the real kicker is the MARY KAY CONSULTANT sign stuck to the driver’s side door. Eddie’s gonna love that.

This one, I say, smiling at the prospect of showing it to him. Getaway drivers—hell, all guys—like something sexier than this, but since he’s not here…

I’m getting that slight tingle in my fingers. It’s my gut’s way of telling me the job’s going to go right. I unzip my backpack, pull the tow kit and my gloves out from under a stack of college books, where I hid them. I tell the other guys the books are just props to make me look more like a student—out studying late for an exam, instead of a thief trying to steal a car—in case one of LA’s finest happens to pull me over. But that’s only partly true. I’ve actually read most of them. Plus, I like having them with me. They’re my good-luck charms.

My cousin Benito—he goes by Benny—yawns and takes point at the back of the vehicle, eyes glued to the entrance to the apartment building’s parking lot. I’d lay odds he’s not watching the street, though. He’s been staring at the sky on and off for the past hour, daydreaming. The LA skyline is pretty sweet, but not something he hasn’t seen a million times before. We don’t talk about it, but I know he dislikes this part of the job as much as I do. You’d think stealing cars wouldn’t be nearly as big a deal as the bank jobs, but in some ways it’s worse. More personal. This van belongs to someone—a woman with kids. We have to steal our getaway cars.

I gotta get a Red Bull or something, dude. I’m dyin’. Hurry up already. Benny stretches and groans loudly, his arms coming up over his head, his back arching. He’s nearly four inches shorter than me, twice as thick, and nothing but muscle. He reminds me of a boxer or something, all coiled-up energy. You think the boys are still at the party? Benny sounds wistful. We left the rest of our crew at Jeannette’s house. We never take the whole team to lift a car. We’d attract too much attention. Last we saw of them, they were gathered in Jeannette’s backyard scoping out the girls. Maybe we could go back after we drop this bad boy off? he asks, hopeful.

Nah, man. It’ll be over by now. I stick the wedge into the car door and pry it back enough to shove the air bladder into the gap. I start squeezing the hand pump, the bladder inflating in time with the pulse in my neck. Two seconds more and I’ve got the long metal rod in place, hovering over the unlock button. The car clicks. The lock disengages. The sound sends a tremor down my spine. I pull open the door. The cinnamon-apple scent of the car deodorizer makes my lungs squeeze shut in an instant. It’s so bad that I consider breaking into a different car. But that’ll just waste time, so I yank the air freshener out and throw it to the ground.

I drop into the driver’s seat, check all the usual places for keys. It’s nuts how many people leave a key inside their car. Stupid. Every time I find one, I want to leave a note that reads, Doors have locks for a reason. Mom types are the worst about it. I mean, I get it. My sister’s only three, so I know little kids’ll make you stressed and forgetful and stuff, but this is LA. You can’t let your guard down. Ever. Still, somehow they always do. Easy targets. I’d be a pendejo if I didn’t go for their cars first.

The glove compartment is stuffed with insurance papers and not much else. There’s nothing in the driver’s side door, tucked into the visor, or under the floor mat except crumbs. But then, boom! There’s a key tucked into the coin tray beneath a thin layer of sticky-looking pennies and a stash of baby wipes, diapers, and a box of Goldfish crackers. I grab the crackers, then slip the key into the ignition and start ’er up. Some god-awful kids’ music fills the car, a dozen high-pitched voices singing about peanut butter and jelly. It’s a song that my own mom would never be caught dead playing for my little sister. She’d rather play Maria some Plastilina Mosh or my dad’s stuff from when he used to do covers around LA with his band. I start fiddling with the buttons until I find a station that doesn’t make me want to rip out my eardrums.

Let’s roll, I say.

Benny slips into the passenger side. I put the car in drive, and we ease out of the garage. I’m in no particular hurry. It’s quiet this time of night. Most people who live around here are asleep. I put on my turn signal and hang a left. There’re maybe ten other cars on the street and then a stretch of empty road, but I don’t speed up. The first rule of stealing is not to look like you’re stealing. Speed hints at panic, and panic calls attention to itself.

Wanna grab a burger or somethin’? Benny yawns again, and suddenly it’s contagious and I’m yawning myself. The brief jolt of adrenaline I had when we settled on this car is already fading away. There was a time when I would be jacked-up for hours, but now stealing cars is just too easy, that’s all. Thinking about it makes my stomach sour. I don’t want it to be easy. It means it’s become my normal. Not good.

Nah, I’m beat. We got church in the morning, remember?

"Ha! It is morning, genius. Don’t be such a tight-ass white boy. You might as well stay up all night now. So…burgers? Come on, you know you want one." Benny jabs me in the ribs, grinning. I hate it when he calls me white boy. Makes me feel like I’m not like him, that I don’t totally belong. I try not to care. The boys tease Carlos for being fat all the time, and he doesn’t complain—except it’s not the same. Carlos can lose weight. I’ll always have a white father. I give Benny the side eye and punch his shoulder.

Ow, bro, he laughs, massaging his arm. I rub my eyes. They’re squinty with fatigue. I won’t even get four hours’ crash time before I’m squished into a pew, listening to Father Diaz give the mass. I shovel a few Goldfish into my mouth and offer Benny the box.

No burgers, I say. I gotta help my mom fill an order for her company before church. It’s gotta go out Monday first thing. I’m gonna be wrecked if I don’t squeeze in an hour or two of sleep.

This is only partly true. I do have to help my mom tag and box over a hundred T-shirts for this hipster clothing store downtown—her first big order in a very long time—but I also want to read this book my English teacher recommended. Benny doesn’t need to know that, though. He’ll just start ribbing me again. It’s better for both of us if he thinks I’m doing something nonintellectual. Benny and I are more than cousins—we’re best friends—but this is one area of my life he doesn’t get. None of my boys are all that interested in pleasure reading Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea or To Kill a Mockingbird. You’d think they would be, because it’s such an escape, but man, for them it’s the opposite. Benny had issues learning to read in the first place, and getting called out of class to hang with the reading specialist embarrassed him big-time. The others would rather be shooting hoops or out picking up girls or whatever. Gabriel dropped out of school a while back, and Eddie and Carlos have started entertaining the idea of doing the same. It’s just not that important to them. I get why. Hard to think about the future when you’re trying to survive today. It just sucks when they get defensive every time I try to do something different.

It’s a theory I have. The hole theory. Sometimes people who are stuck in a really deep hole don’t see the point in trying to get out. The climb just feels too high. And when you want to escape, they get all freaked out because if you actually manage to get out, they’re stuck in the hole alone. I think Benny’s afraid that if I get too into books and stuff, we won’t have anything in common. Or that I’ll start seeing him differently. That won’t happen, but I can’t make him believe that, so I just don’t talk about what book I’m into currently or acing my SATs or applying for college scholarships.

Oh, bro, that sucks. But Benny doesn’t look the least bit sorry about the prospect of my having to fold a bunch of lady shirts before mass. In fact, he’s grinning like a freaking five-year-old who’s just heard the world’s best fart joke.

So how come Eddie doesn’t take this crap over for us? He’s the driver—it should be him, I say, barely keeping the frustration out of my voice.

’Cause Eddie’s about as stealthy as an elephant. What, you don’t like spendin’ time with me, homes? Benny pretends to be insulted.

Not even a little bit, I say dryly. Dude practically lives at my house, we hang out so much.

He laughs, lowering the window and sticking his hand into the wind. He lets it ride the current, dipping and swooping. He’s back to watching the sky. Again. His expression changes, goes all serious.

Probably he’s thinking about the fact that none of us is completely in charge. If we were, we wouldn’t be robbing banks in the first place. The question of who the real boss is is complicated. For us, it’d be Soldado, the leader of Florencia Heights, but he answers to dudes even higher up than him. We’re just the final link in a very long chain.

After a bit he says, You know you wouldn’t seriously let Eddie do it anyway. You gotta have your fingers in the whole thing all the time.

He’s not exactly wrong. I feel better when I have more control—even if it’s just perceived control. Simple truth: we’re the guys on the ground. If stuff goes sideways, we’ll be going to jail. Not Soldado or whoever he reports to. When it comes to putting my butt on the line, as much as I love my crew—my boys, Eddie, Gabriel, Carlos, and Benny—they aren’t all that careful about stuff. This is also part of my hole theory: If you’re deep in the hole, you aren’t scared of going deeper. But if you’re halfway out, man, the fall is freaking terrifying.

I think it ticks Gabriel off that I want to control things—like I don’t trust him or the other guys or something, but it isn’t that, not exactly. I mean, they know all my secrets and have my back no matter what. And I got theirs. But I don’t always trust their decision-making when it counts. Not for nothing, but Carlos gets sloppy sometimes. Like the bank we hit a few months back when he let out a string of curses in Spanish, handing the cops the biggest clue so far as to who we are. I mean, they don’t know for sure we’re Mexican—we could be Puerto Rican or Cuban—but given how many Mexicans

Reviews for Smash & Grab

[ftbooklover · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Smash and Grab is a well written story about Lexi, a self-proclaimed adrenaline junkie who does dangerous things for fun, and Christian, a pseudo gang member who robs banks. As unlikely as they are to be the heroes of a story, these two protagonists do find common ground when they both target the same bank for different reasons. Lexi is trying to prove that the man that worked with her father at that bank is at least as guilty as he is. Christian is looking to make one last score to get his family out from under the threat of the local branch of the Mexican gangster cartel. When they meet and realize their common interest in the bank, they decide to pool their resources and go after the bank together.
The fact that these two protagonists feel guilt over some of the things that they have done doesn't negate the fact that they both know what they are doing is wrong. Because of this, I had trouble liking either character, which made rooting for them difficult to do. The story is well thought out and brings a level of suspense, but without a connection to the characters, it was hard to like the book.

[bbyrnes-1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Easy read - meant for teens. Lexi is a wealthy daredevil whose father has been arrested for bank fraud. Christian is trapped into robbing banks to keep his family safe. Their lives collide twice - 1) she lands on his stolen car after she skydives from a building 2) he mows her down when fleeing a bank robbery. She wants to find the goods on another bank officer, Christian needs info about the bank for a huge heist. They join forces to help each other. They learn that Christian's gang is marked for death so Lexi and her crew help them survive and escape the bank with the cash. Meanwhile, Lexi's brother moves the bank officer's funds to off-shore accounts. None of the kids are caught and in the end, Lexi and Christian meet for a date.

[roses7184_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Are you looking for a fun read that will fly by? I'd definitely consider picking up a copy of Smash & Grab! Seriously, this book was a ton of fun to read. If you're willing to suspend disbelief for a bit, and just fall into the story head first, you're going to love reading this. Getting caught up in dangerous stunts and crazy heists is a really pleasant way to spend a few hours.

First off, I fell pretty hard for Lexi and Christian. As I said above, you kind of have to suspend disbelief a little bit to be able to fully appreciate their epic stories. Lexi is the rich girl, whose life is on the brink of falling apart. She seeks adrenaline rushes to deal with her anxiety, and does some fairly intense stuff. Base jumping terrifies me, but Lexi makes it sound like a walk in the park. Christian is the boy whose circumstances have kept his family down. His mom works hard to make money, he works hard to get good grades so he can get into college, but both of those things just aren't paying the bills. So he robs banks, to ensure his family's safety and cash flow.

These two were so different, but I could tell right from the start that Parker was working hard to make their chemistry real. In fact, the first time these two actually interacted I saw some sparks! It's wonderful when a story actually cares about making a relationship real, even if in this case the story itself might be a little over the top. The other wonderful part was that the romance aspect of this isn't even overwhelming. The focus is on Lexi, Christian, and the heist they need to pull off. If there's romance along the way, well that's just how it works.

My only real complaint about Smash & Grab was the ending. I had so much fun the entire ride, but that ending just wrapped things up much too succinctly and easily. It was a little too perfect to feel realistic. I mean, obviously the entire book is a bit like that. Christian and his buddies make robbing a bank feel like anyone could do it. Like it's just a small thing you do, and then escape. I was willing to let go of all that though, because I was enjoying the ride. I just wish the ending had a little more tension, after all the build up.

Still, this is a really solid read! As I said, if you're looking for something action packed and full of potential, this is one to add to your TBR.